The 13th Order
by ice-crisis
Summary: Due to a car accident, Roxas is forced to work in a restaurant kitchen until he can pay off the damage. There he meets an odd cast of characters, including a certain redheaded cook, a bubbly dishwasher, and a far too cheerful waiter. Axel/Roxas, SoRiku
1. The 13th Order

**So, this is my first chapter fic in years, but I'm getting tired of oneshots, so I thought I'd try my hand at it again. Thanks go out to Placidmage, for encouraging me and saying that the idea didn't suck, and also for being my beta for this chapter.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Kingdom Hearts or any of the characters, and I'm not making any money off this story anyway so please don't sue me...**

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Chapter One—The 13th Order

"_I'll let you, just this once, because I know how responsible you are."_

Roxas stood on the curb, looking at the car. It was a black Porsche, the nicest car his family had ever owned. His mother's car. She had put in overtime to be able to make the payments. It was her dream car, everything she had ever wanted in a vehicle.

"_Remember, be careful and drive safely."_

A wheel detached itself and rolled leisurely towards the curb, stopping at his feet.

"_Maybe, if you prove yourself this time, I'll let you borrow it again in the future."_

If it burst into flames, Roxas thought, would crying be an appropriate response? Freshmen in college shouldn't cry, he knew, but it seemed like a better option than going back and telling his mother that he had totaled her car the very first time he'd borrowed it. He winced at the thought.

The best part was that it wasn't even his fault. He hadn't just been careful when driving it, he had been careful to the point of _paranoia_. He had checked obsessively before changing lanes, he had made sure to put on his signals five minutes before he turned, he had never taken his eyes off the road for a second.

But when that red Volvo had sped through the light at the exact moment that Roxas had chosen to cross the intersection, it was all he could do to avoid a head-on collision. Unfortunately, when he swerved to avoid the car he had ended up skidding into a concrete telephone pole instead. He hadn't been going that fast. There was no way the car should have been damaged beyond repair.

Standing on the curb looking at it, however, it occurred to Roxas that it was a miracle _he_ hadn't been damaged beyond repair. The car had been transformed into a twisted, crumpled hunk of metal that more closely resembled a wadded up ball of paper than a luxury car.

The bastard in the Volvo hadn't even stopped.

Well, thought Roxas grimly, at least he was still alive.

He looked again at the car.

For now.

--

"ROXAS!"

Roxas started, jerking his head up from the book he was reading and slamming his skull against the headboard of his bed in the process.

"Geez, Mom," he answered, rubbing his head and wincing, "what is it?"

"Don't you take that tone with me, young man!" his mother's voice scolded, rather loudly he guessed since it sounded like she was yelling from the bottom of the stairs. He rolled his eyes. Two weeks and she was still pissed off. Not that he blamed her for being upset over the car—he had been pretty upset too, and it hadn't even belonged to him. He was kind of annoyed that she didn't believe him when he said there was nothing he could have done to prevent the accident, though.

"Your brother is leaving in half an hour, so you need to get ready," she continued. Roxas frowned. Where was he supposed to be going, exactly? He had been grounded from stepping outside the house without supervision—a college student, grounded! The indignity of it!—and she had confiscated his driver's license, so it wasn't like he could sneak out and go anywhere on his own, not even in the other car, a rundown Honda. The way she had laid down the law, the only place it looked like he would ever be allowed to go was…

Oh _no_. That wasn't today, was it?

"Roxas," he heard her mother say warningly. "This is your first day on the job and you cannot be late."

"Yes, Mom," he said automatically, putting his book down and searching frantically for a calendar. He could have sworn that he was supposed to start work tomorrow. Of course, after spending two weeks of his summer vacation cooped up in the house doing virtually nothing the days started to blur together into one long eternity of staring at the wall.

"It wasn't easy to get this job for you, you know," she said darkly, as Roxas finally found his desk calendar and scowled at the day circled in red. "If you get fired you might not find another one this summer."

"Yes, Mom," he said again, sighing. The threat in her words was clear—if he didn't have a decent job he was going to be doing chores for petty cash for the rest of his _life_.

"If you mess this up, Roxas, I'll be very disappointed in you."

Disappointed? Was that supposed to be a threat? Roxas shook his head despairingly at no one. He wasn't supposed to be scared of a disappointed parent, was he? He'd already heard the most horrible words he could possibly imagine when she'd looked at him the day he wrecked the Porsche and said that he had to pay for the damage from his own pocket.

"You've got twenty minutes, Roxas! Don't forget to thank your brother for driving you!" she yelled, and he thought he heard her steps receding into the kitchen.

Roxas didn't bother answering. He picked up the uniform his brother had fetched for him, and stared for a moment at the blinding checkered pants. The pattern was almost mesmerizing, in a masochistic sort of way. It was like it was impossible to tear your eyes away until they started bleeding.

He shook his head and started changing. At least when he was wearing it he didn't have to look at it.

As he ran down the stairs twenty minutes later, he consoled himself with the fact that however torturous his new job was, it couldn't possibly be as bad as mowing lawns until he was fifty.

Right?

--

The 13th Order was one of the best restaurants in town. It wasn't very big, and it never drew a particularly large crowd, but it was the first place that citizens thought of when they planned for a large dinner or a formal occasion. The food was delicious, if expensive, and after the invasion of fast food shops and chain restaurants, it seemed like the one establishment left that still had charm and atmosphere.

There was certainly nowhere else like it.

Situated on the outskirts of town in a large, rambling building that might have been an old house in its past life, The 13th Order sat atop a small hill that afforded it the best view in town. At sunset diners were never disappointed with the rich display of colors that decorated the clouds. After dark, the city glittered like a second night sky.

Reservations needed to be booked months in advance.

Getting a job there was even harder.

Roxas stared up at the elegant sign, at a loss. His brother had dropped him off, pointed out the backdoor to the kitchen, and then left to start work. Roxas had never worked in a restaurant before. He had no idea who he was supposed to talk to, or where he was supposed to go. He felt stupid just standing there in his uniform, though, so he decided that actually going _into_ the kitchen would probably be better than just standing at the door looking confused. It was only mid-afternoon, so there weren't many customers, but he didn't want to take a chance on whether or not his checkered pants were capable of hypnotizing wildlife as well as people. The last thing he wanted on his first day of work was to be mauled by a squirrel or something.

Cautiously, he pushed open the door. No one dropped anything or threw knives at him, so he took this as a signal to continue, and stepped inside.

Despite the restaurant's unconventional façade, the kitchen looked sleek and modern. Shining metal counters, giant steaming pots, racks of spices and ingredients, and pots and pans, some full of food and some empty, greeted his curious eyes. He could distinctly hear the sound of chopping, as well as the sizzle of a grill. He could see a few people standing around the counters in front of cutting boards and wondered if one of them was his boss and if he should interrupt them or not.

"Hey there, shortie!"

Roxas jumped a little and turned around to look at the person who had snuck up on him. Almost immediately, he regretted it. The guy looked like he had either fallen face first into a pit of spikes or had one too many accidents in the kitchen. The lithe little man was covered in scars, including one long gash down the side of his face that seemed to draw the onlooker's attention directly to his eye patch. He was grinning at Roxas in what the blond surmised was supposed to be a friendly way, but because of the scars it just came off as a mildly terrifying leer.

"You're the new kid, right?" said the apparition.

"U-uh, I—" Roxas stuttered, still unsure if the thing was even human.

"Alright, new kid," the guy said, ignoring Roxas' less than kind reaction, "let's getcha to the boss-man."

Still a little stunned, Roxas didn't even resist as the man dragged him away by the arm.

As he was whisked away, he tried to get a better look at the kitchen. He saw two sets of long gleaming counters, around which were standing two rather large, well-muscled men. Nearby the counters there were stacks of cutting boards and racks of knives. Around a corner he thought he caught a glimpse of stoves, a grill, and fire, but it was out of sight before he could really see anything else.

"Meeting by the office!" called the scarred man to the cooks as they went by. "Drop the knives first, Xaldin, thanks. Where the hell is Saїx? Lex, can you go find him? He should be here for this. And grab the pyro and the vegetable queen on the way back, yeah?"

The last things Roxas noticed before his captor shoved him through the door to what was apparently the office, was a large room filled with dirty pots, and a doorway that opened onto a rickety old staircase leading down into darkness.

"Hey, Mr. Manager," said the scarred man with a grin, shutting the office door behind them. "I brought the new kid. The others'll be here in a minute."

"Thank you, Xigbar," the sole occupant of the room replied stiffly. "We will introduce him to them momentarily."

The man stood from the high-backed chair he had occupied, and Roxas got his first look at his new boss: a tall, dignified looking man with long, silver hair and a regal air.

"Welcome," he said, "To The 13th Order."

--

"I have gathered you all here together today," said the manager, "to introduce you to our new employee."

Axel leaned against a counter and yawned, wondering if it were possible for Xemnas to talk any slower than he already did, or if the universe would implode from boredom if he even tried. He almost wished his boss _would_ try it, if only because it would save him from hearing the rest of his speech.

"Due to necessity he will be starting today with on-the-job training," continued the owner and manager of The 13th Order. "I expect all of you to answer his questions and be as helpful as possible."

Tuning Xemnas out, Axel leaned over to look around the prep cooks at the fresh meat—err, new kid. He looked a little young to be working, about sixteen, but looks could be deceiving. He had a kind of sullen expression that looked almost comical under the floppy chef's hat everyone in the kitchen was required to wear. A few wisps of golden blond hair had escaped from the hat to fall into clear, blue eyes that, if Axel were the melodramatic type, he would say he had never seen the like of before on this earth. Of course, it would be a lie—he'd met at least two other people with eyes exactly the same color, and they both worked in the restaurant. But in his opinion, the new kid pulled it off a whole lot better, even if he did look like he was about to bite someone's head off.

He also looked ridiculously cute in an apron.

"…will recall, the last two cooks who filled this position were somewhat discontent," Xemnas was saying. "After a few… _incidents_…" he took the time to glare pointedly at Axel, who just snickered, "they found it more appealing to leave. I do hope that the incidents in question do not repeat themselves." Xemnas threw Axel another warning look, just to be clear. Axel grinned.

Xemnas sighed.

"Dismissed," he said.

"Finally," Axel murmured. He needed to get back to his job before something caught on fire—accidentally this time.

Walking back to the grill, he paused only to shake his head in general pity when he overheard the manager saying to the new kid "this is Marluxia, he'll be your immediate superior."

Poor kid. Axel had a feeling he was going to have to go over later that night and cheer him up.

The redhead grinned. Suddenly, the night's work looked like it would be a _whole_ lot more fun.

--

Salad.

Roxas stared at the laminated book sitting on the counter in front of him.

Salad. He was supposed to make salad. He'd figured that much out when they told him he had been hired as the Salad Runner. Unfortunately, the weird, pink-haired guy—Marluxia, he thought the boss had named him—hadn't really told him anything else.

"My job is to prepare the ingredients for your little salads," he had said with a sneer, "not to babysit."

After that, he had taken Roxas to the section of the kitchen that was apparently supposed to be his work station, tossed a book at him, and left.

Roxas looked around. He was alone, further supporting the theory that this section of the kitchen belonged to him. It was built like a hallway, two metal walls of coolers and refrigerators with a section in the middle for a metal counter and what looked like long, thin window with no glass at about eye-level. In one corner of the window there sat a bulky black box that was plugged into the wall.

It was a cook's line, he realized, peering through the window. On the other side were trays, a soda fountain, pots of coffee, and other things that waiters might need. The waiters must use that part of the kitchen, he thought. They would give him orders for the salads he was supposed to make, and when they were finished he would put them in the window for them.

Pleased with himself for having figured this out by himself, he looked around again. The coolers lining his station held all sorts of things that could make salad. Various kinds of lettuce, tomatoes, cucumbers, cheeses, croutons, and even some fruits were stored inside. One end of his little hallway led to the rest of the kitchen, a crossroads of sorts in which one turn would take him to the waiter's realm and another to the area where the prep cooks worked. Directly across from his salad line, however, was a room that he couldn't see into because of the large cloud of steam that was pouring out of it.

The room they washed dishes in, probably, Roxas thought, turning to investigate the other side. He couldn't see around the corner, but on the wall opposite him there were a few heavy, forbidding looking metal doors. Refrigerators, he thought, nodding. It was probably where they kept the extra food for when he ran out of his salad ingredients.

Finally, he looked down at the book. It was a black, laminated, spiral-bound piece of work that simply said "The 13th Order" on the cover. Turning the pages, however, Roxas realized that it held recipes, precise instructions, and even pictures of the salads he was supposed to be making. There were a lot of them, but most of them looked simple enough, and with the instructions they would be easy to make.

Roxas almost smiled. With the help of the book, maybe he didn't need Marluxia after all.

He read the book, cover to cover, trying to make sure he at least knew what the different dishes were called, before setting it aside and checking his watch.

It had been twenty minutes.

Roxas looked around again. Still no one there. It was like he'd been abandoned in a no-man's-land of lettuce.

He had familiarized himself with his surroundings. He had read through the recipe book.

What the hell was he supposed to be _doing?_

"Waiting for orders from the mother ship?"

"Gah!" Roxas gasped, jumping at the voice.

What was with these people and appearing out of nowhere? Either Roxas was being exceptionally oblivious today as well as insanely high-strung, or all the cooks at The 13th Order had taken lessons in stealth. He tried to calm himself down, turning to face… the brightest, greenest eyes he had ever seen.

Roxas blinked. Whoever this guy was, he stood out from the rest of the crowd. Aside from having eyes so green they had to have been radioactive, Roxas could tell even under the hat that his hair was the color of ketchup. Under his eyes there were two black, tear-shaped splotches that could have been tattoos or could have been grease marks. He was dressed differently from the others, too. While the rest of the cooks were wearing essentially the same thing Roxas was—a white chef's coat, an apron tied around the waist, and black and white pants that had to be some kind of optical illusion—the redhead had somehow managed to find the same clothes in all black. Black shirt, black pants, black shoes. The only exception was the apron, which he wasn't wearing at all, and the hat, which was exactly the same as Roxas' own floppy white abomination.

Suddenly, Roxas realized he was staring.

"Waiting for what?" he asked, hoping the guy hadn't noticed.

The redhead grinned.

"Orders," he said, gesturing at the black box sitting in the window. "Y'know, tickets from the waiters. They plug their orders into the computer, the ticket box regurgitates them to us, and we make the food. We put the food in the window and the waiters pick it up. Usually."

"Oh." He had been wondering what that thing was for.

"You're not going to get any, though," the redhead added. "Dinner doesn't start for another two hours. I'm one of the cooks, by the way. Name's Axel."

"I'm Roxas," said Roxas. He hesitated. "If dinner doesn't start for two hours," he said, "what do I do until then?"

Axel blinked.

"They really didn't tell you much, did they, kid?" he laughed. Roxas frowned at being called 'kid' but didn't say anything. "This restaurant is run kinda funny. We open for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Eight to ten, eleven to three, and five thirty to ten thirty. For the poor hungry idiots who missed lunch and just can't wait until dinner, though, there's a salad bar set up."

"Oh," Roxas nodded. "And I'm supposed to keep the salad bar stocked?" That made sense, actually. He had wondered why his job title had been a salad _runner_.

"Yep. Then at dinner you make the salad orders." Axel paused. "Actually," he said, "I think you're making desserts for us tonight, too. The last dessert kid got fired because he kept eating all the ice-cream."

"I'm working two jobs at once?"

Axel shrugged.

"It's not that bad," he said. "The second job's a piece of cake." He laughed. Roxas winced. That was _terrible_. "You'll do fine," Axel said. "I can already tell you're going to last longer than the last two guys."

"What happened to them?" Roxas asked curiously. All he knew was what the manager had said about _incidents_. He had no idea what that was supposed to mean.

"Well," replied Axel, thinking, "the last kid cracked and walked out on the job. I think his last words were 'screw this, lamers.' The guy before that was moved to prep cooking." He glanced towards the end of the salad line. "I have to go," he said, waving cheerfully. "Duty calls."

When he reached the end of the line, however, he paused.

"Oh, and in case anybody tells you differently," he added, smirking, "I didn't mean to set his hair on fire—it was a complete accident."

Roxas gaped as the guy disappeared around the corner.

What had he gotten himself into?

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**Author's Note: Next Chapter, meet the night shift at The 13th Order and see how well Roxas adjusts to his new job. The ****main focus of this story will probably be Axel/Roxas, but for fans of the other charcters, don't worry! They haven't been introduced yet, but I have plans for Riku/Sora and a few other pairings as well. **

**Remember, Reviews give authors warm fuzzy feelings of happiness... and they also inspire them to write faster. If you liked it, let me know! :D **


	2. The Night Shift

**Chapter Two! And just in time for 8/13. :D Thanks for all the reviews--warm fuzzies abounded. You can tell, because I actually got the second chapter out within the month. Like I said, reviews offer inspiration. ;)**

**Disclaimer: I still don't own Kingdom Hearts. ...actually, I don't even have my own _copy _of the game. So yeah, no rights, no money, don't sue please. ...And I also don't own the Hobart equipment company, or ceram wrap. As if anybody thought I did.**

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**Chapter Two**

**Back of the House: The Night Shift**

Axel peeked around the corner of the cook's line at his newest source of entertainment.

After an hour and a half of running the salad bar, the little blond had already lost the wide-eyed, bewildered, new kid look. Now he just looked homicidal. It was an expression that most of the kitchen crew at The 13th Order were pretty familiar with, not least because they usually wore it themselves. Spending your life fulfilling the whims of customers, all of whom were apparently insane, could do that to a person.

At the moment, he was rummaging frantically through the coolers, obviously searching for something.

"Looking for something?" asked Axel, sidling into the kid's territory, this time making a point of announcing himself. The kid was jumpy enough as it was without actually trying to scare him.

"Croutons," was the response, a little muffled by the fact that he was bent over with his head still practically inside one of the coolers. "I can't find any more croutons."

"If you're out, croutons should be in dry storage," said Axel helpfully, only momentarily distracted by the view he was getting of his new coworker's ass.

Roxas extracted himself from the cooler and eyed him suspiciously. Apparently his earlier comment about setting people on fire had set off some warning bells.

"Dry storage? Where's that?"

"In the basement."

"…the _basement?_"

"Yeah. Along with the produce fridge and the freezer." Axel watched the kid's expression. Obviously he hadn't had time to go exploring yet, because he looked pretty surprised. "You've never been to this place before, have you?"

"No," said Roxas, a little confused by the sudden change in topic. "Well, we came here to eat once but it was a few years ago and I don't really remember. Why?"

"Rule number one at The 13th Order," said the redhead, "the kitchen makes no sense. The whole place used to be a big house. The owner added a bunch of equipment but never changed much else. It's kind of a maze, too. Lost a few employees that way."

Roxas appeared to be mulling this over.

"Hey, uh, Axel," he said suddenly, "why is it called The 13th Order, anyway?"

"You don't know? It's all part of the gimmick," Axel replied, reaching into the nearest cooler and helping himself to a slice of pepperoni. "Every thirteenth thing customers order from the menu is free. Supposed to bring in the customers at the start, I think, and then it was part of the name so Xemmy couldn't really change it without annoying people."

"Is that why people like having big parties here?"

"Right the first time." Axel reached in to take another slice of pepperoni, thought better of it, and liberated the whole pan. "…didn't you need more croutons?"

Roxas looked at him blankly for a moment, and then paled.

"Shit!" he said, running off towards the back of the kitchen where the winding staircase led down to the basement.

Axel was gone long before he came back.

So were the pepperonis.

--

The basement, Roxas decided, was creepy as hell.

It wasn't just that the lights on the staircase were burned out, or that said staircase looked like it might collapse at any moment. It wasn't just that, because of the way the house had been constructed, the basement was practically a labyrinth of rooms, all filled with their own tiny mazes made of shelf upon shelf of dried food, cans, and unlabeled boxes. It wasn't just that, wandering through it, Roxas actually started to _believe_ what Axel said about having lost people down there.

No, the thing that was really giving him goose bumps was how eerily quiet it was.

He hadn't even worked a full shift at the restaurant yet, but one thing he had noticed was that the kitchen was _never_ quiet. Aside from the sounds of chopping, sizzling, and general chatter, someone was always yelling about needing something, or asking if they had any more of _this_, or if they were out of _that_. Even if it was one of the prep cooks shouting "where the hell is the Ceram wrap?! If you've taken it again, Marluxia I swear to god I'm going to _stab_ you"—Roxas had learned very quickly that pissing off the prep cooks was a feat to be attempted by braver men than himself—there was always some sort of noise. If nothing else, the guys on the cook's line never seemed to shut up.

Once he had worked up the nerve to descend the stairs into the darkness, however, a haunting silence had fallen. It must have been something about the acoustics of the building, but for whatever reason, the basement was dead quiet.

And wasn't that a great description, thought Roxas, kicking himself for even thinking it. He wasn't usually scared of ghost stories or creepy places, but he was stressed enough today without his subconscious trying to convince him that the boogeyman was going to jump out from behind a shelf of canned peaches.

He still couldn't find the damned croutons, either.

Wandering past a huge, metal door that either led to the freezer Axel had mentioned or to the place they hid the bodies, Roxas turned into yet another room of unlabeled boxes. Okay, to be fair the boxes did have labels, but more often than not they were on stickers with barcodes. They were very small, very hard to read, and invariably upside down. Roxas had to examine each and every one of them to make sure they weren't what he was looking for. After every room full of failures, he was lured deeper and deeper into the basement.

He was beginning to think that he'd never get out.

"Raisons," Roxas murmured, tilting his head and reading the labels aloud to stave off the silence. "Assorted crackers. Ranch dressing mix. Yellow cake mix. Brownie mix. Pecans."

He continued on to the other side of the room.

"Paper towels. Paper napkins. Paper…" he paused. "What?"

The next box was one he was entirely unsure what to make of. It was a fairly large, brown box, about the size of a microwave. The label, if Roxas was reading it correctly, said "Toques". He had no idea what that meant, but he was far more interested in the fact that it had been duct taped shut with great care. No one was getting that box open without a very sharp knife.

Underneath the label had been written, in red marker, the words "DO NOT OPEN." It had been underlined twice, and then, as an afterthought someone had added "under any circumstances."

There was something about this place that was more than a little weird, Roxas reflected as he looked at the box and wondered why they didn't just throw it out if they were so adamantly against using whatever was inside. He spared it only a few seconds of consideration, though, because he really did need to find those croutons, and the longer he was down there the more things he was probably running out of on the salad bar. Obviously a room filled with paper napkins wouldn't have croutons in it, so he shouldn't waste his time. He turned to leave.

He barely managed to stifle a gasp.

Standing right behind him, a little too close for comfort, was a tall, stoic-looking man that was gazing down at him with calm disdain. Long, thin scars formed an X across his face, and his eyes almost seemed to glow yellow in the dim light of the basement. The only way Roxas could convince himself that the man was not a ghost or a mass murderer was by rationally pointing out to himself that no self respecting creature of horror would be caught dead in checkered chef's pants.

"Do you need something?" asked the man.

"Uh," Roxas said warily, "…croutons?"

The man nodded.

"Follow me," he said, and abruptly turned and strode away. Roxas followed at a safe distance. To the mild surprise of his rather paranoid subconscious—which had been wrong about the peaches, but suspecting the boogeyman of jumping out at him from behind a shelf of raisons and cake mix was a close second—the man took him straight into another room, pointed out the croutons, and then led him back upstairs.

Back in the light of day again, Roxas was going to take the croutons to the salad line, but the man stopped him, instead dragging him over to a prep counter where Marluxia was… chopping cucumbers. Roxas blinked. Actually, for a second it had looked like Marluxia was caressing the cucumbers, but Roxas was sure his eyes were playing tricks on him.

He hoped.

"Marluxia," said the basement fiend pointedly. "The next time he needs something from downstairs, show him where it is. We do not have time to waste searching for things if we want the restaurant to be run smoothly."

When the pink-haired chef didn't answer right away, the man narrowed his eyes dangerously.

"Marluxia," he said, "that is an _order_."

Marluxia frowned, putting down his knife and scooping the sliced cucumbers into a pan.

"Yes, _sir_," he said, rather sourly. Apparently it was good enough, however, because the man nodded again and turned back to Roxas.

"I am Saїx," he said. "If anyone in the kitchen gives you trouble, please inform me."

Roxas nodded mutely, not particularly wanting to ask what kind of trouble Saїx was expecting, or what the slightly creepy man would do about it. He took some croutons out to the salad bar as quickly as he could, seeing as he'd already been gone for at least ten minutes. Wandering back to the salad line and dumping the rest of his croutons into a pan, he began to wonder if everyone who worked at The 13th Order was a little insane, or if he had just started work on a bad day. He'd already met two guys with weird collections of scars, a man who appeared to enjoy stroking the produce, and someone who liked to set people on fire.

Was _anybody _in this place normal?

"Hi!"

Roxas turned from his contemplation of the croutons to see who had wandered into his line this time. He was greeted by a cheerful looking young man who appeared to be about two or three years older than Roxas. He was wearing chef's clothes just like the rest of the kitchen crew, but over it he had donned a transparent, full-length rubber apron. Unlike everyone else, he wasn't wearing a hat, and he had suds in his odd, half-mullet, half-Mohawk hairstyle.

"You must be the new guy!" he said in such a friendly, excited way it was hard not to like him instantly. "Roxas, right? I'm Demyx!"

"Hi," said Roxas, unable to keep from smiling a little at the other's enthusiasm. Demyx was the only person he had met today who actually seemed to want to talk to him. Well, except for Axel, but Roxas still wasn't sure what he thought about the redhead yet.

"Man, it's so cool to finally meet you," said Demyx, leaning back against one of the coolers. "I've been waiting to meet the new salad kid ever since your brother said you were coming last week."

Roxas frowned.

"You know my brother?" he asked, suddenly wary. His brother had some pretty weird friends, and being left alone with them was fairly high up on his list of things to avoid.

"Weeeell," Demyx hedged, "not exactly. I mean, I've met him before of course, but we're not really buddies or anything. I know a lot of the waiters, though, and _they_ said that he said that you were coming."

"Oh." Roxas considered this. He knew, of course, that his brother worked in the restaurant as a host, greeting the customers and taking reservations. It was, after all, the only reason he'd gotten this job in the first place. It had never occurred to him, however, that his brother might have told people about him.

"So, what did he say?" asked Roxas, suddenly feeling self-conscious.

"Not much," Demyx replied, grinning. "You know him. Just that his little brother was coming to work in the kitchen. Axel nearly flipped when he heard—said the place was getting boring and it was about time we got some new blood."

Roxas hesitated before speaking again. Ever since he'd met Axel he'd been wondering if he should try to avoid him. He seemed pretty strange, after all. Of course, he was also one of the only people who was acting friendly towards him, and Roxas wasn't sure if he should take the odd things he said very seriously. Demyx seemed pretty normal, at least for The 13th Order, so asking him about the cook couldn't hurt, right?

"Hey Demyx," he said, making up his mind. "Do you know him pretty well?"

"Who, Axel?"

As if on cue, an unruly mop of red spikes popped around the corner.

"Did someone say my name?"

"Hi, Axel," said Demyx cheerfully.

"Oh, hey Demyx," Axel waved. "How's Hobart?"

"Taking a nap."

"…Hobart?" Roxas repeated in confusion.

Demyx laughed.

"The dishwashing machine," he said, jerking a thumb over his shoulder at the door opposite the end of the salad line. There was no steam spewing forth for once, so Roxas could actually see the metal counter holding a few scattered dirty dishes and a large machine that was presumably the dishwasher. "That's my job," continued Demyx, "running the dishwasher. I should probably get back to it, too. It's pretty quiet between meals, but I shouldn't let things pile up. See you guys later!"

The two of them watched as he went back to the dish room, a fresh cloud of steam soon obscuring their view.

"So I see you've met bubble-boy," Axel commented. "Weird guy."

"Excuse me?" Roxas said incredulously at this obvious hypocrisy.

"Well, think about it," said Axel nonchalantly. "He has the worst job in the kitchen, and he's been doing it for maybe two years. Could _you_ be that happy after washing dishes for two years?"

"Uh…"

"Exactly," Axel concluded. "Speaking of which, I've been meaning to ask you—what did you do?"

"What?" Talking to Axel was kind of like being on a roller coaster; you never knew when you were going to take a sharp turn or be mentally flipped upside down. "What do you mean?"

The redhead shrugged.

"You don't act like you _want_ to be here," he elaborated, "so you've gotta be being punished for something, right? What did you do?"

Roxas blinked, surprised that the boisterous cook could be so astute.

"I totaled my mom's car," he replied.

"Ouch," said Axel, "that sucks. She making you pay for it?"

"Yeah."

"Figured it was something like that," he nodded. Then, suddenly, he grinned. "Hey, nobody's bothered to give you the tour of the loony bin yet, right?"

"Sorry?" Roxas said, fighting the urge to step back. Something told him that when Axel grinned like that, bad things happened.

"I mean no one's introduced you to the rest of the night shift. Come on, you have to have noticed by now that to work here you have to be at least a little bit nuts."

"Well—"

"No time like the present!" said Axel, grabbing Roxas by the arm and dragging him bodily to the end of the salad line, where they had a better view of the rest of the kitchen. "We'll start off easy with the people you've already met. First of all, Xigbar," he pointed to the scarred man, who appeared to be having something of a one-sided conversation with one of the prep cooks. "He's been here since the restaurant opened, which is a sign of the crazy right there. Usually he works on the cook's line with me, but you'll see him around doing other stuff sometimes. I've never seen him get mad, so no need to worry there, but he can do some pretty weird shit, too."

"Like what?" asked Roxas, curious despite himself. He fidgeted. Axel's hand was still on his arm, and he was uncomfortably aware of how close to each other they were standing. Axel didn't seem to notice.

"Ever seen a guy accidentally slice his hand open and then try to stitch it up himself before giving up and then turning to super glue?"

Roxas paled.

"Yeah," laughed Axel. "He's got pain tolerance like no other. Trust me, all those scars didn't come from nowhere."

He pointed to their next target, who had moved on from cucumbers and was now petting—err, _peeling_ carrots.

"Marluxia," he said. "The salad prep cook. He looks kinda girly, and he probably won't do anything to you outside of generally being an asshole… but don't _ever_ touch the veggies when he's around. Fair warning."

Roxas nodded.

"Saїx," continued Axel, pointing to a familiar basement lurker who was currently standing in the corner writing something down on a clipboard. "He's the—"

"I've met him," Roxas interrupted. "He showed me where the croutons were."

"Really?" Axel actually sounded surprised. "Then he must be in a good mood today. He's the manager's favorite, so don't act up around him too much. Most of the time he's kind of boring, though."

"Most of the time?"

Axel smirked.

"Just make sure you don't make him angry," was all he said to clarify. "Not unless you're a _really_ good runner."

Still holding onto the blond boy's arm, Axel swiveled Roxas until he was facing the dish room.

"Then there's Demyx," he said. "He says he's only working here until his career as a musician takes off. Dishwasher for two years and counting."

"And… you think he's crazy because he's too happy?" asked Roxas skeptically.

"Well, there is that," Axel replied semi-thoughtfully. "But actually I think it's more because of the weird, violent mood-swings he has sometimes. And because if you piss him off he'll hose you."

Roxas blinked. So much for the one normal person.

"As far as dishwashers go, though, he's the one you'll want to talk to."

"There are other dishwashers?" Roxas didn't see how anyone else could fit in there—the room didn't seem very big.

"Sort of," responded Axel, pulling Roxas back around to look at the kitchen again and pointing towards the room next to the stairwell. It was no longer full of dirty pots, he noticed, and there was a small figure inside scrubbing away at something.

"That's Larxene," said Axel. "She washes the pots. She hates her job and takes it out on pretty much everyone. Don't talk to her unless you want a pot thrown at you. It's fun to watch her bitch at everybody else, though."

Roxas thought about this.

"So she hates washing pots," he repeated. That sounded pretty understandable to him. "Why do you think _she's_ crazy?"

"The only person in the kitchen she likes is Marluxia."

"…ah," said Roxas, nodding sagely. Yeah, that sounded like an indication of insanity, alright.

"Aaand, last but not least, the prep cooks." Axel pointed to the two huge men still standing around the counters. One was making some sort of sauce and the other was dismembering a chicken. "The guy with the fungus on his face is Xaldin. He's been here from the start, just like Xigbar. Talking to him is risky unless you're standing a good ten feet away. Chances are he won't answer you anyway unless you annoy him, and usually it's a good idea _not_ to annoy him when he's holding knives. Which is always."

Somehow this didn't surprise Roxas in the slightest. He'd already noticed that the prep cooks seemed like some of the most dangerous men in the kitchen.

"We think he might have been a professional knife-thrower in the circus," Axel continued. "But then he accidentally killed someone and had to quit and come here." He paused. "That or he's a serial killer lying low."

Roxas rolled his eyes.

"The gorilla standing next to him is Lexaeus. He doesn't talk much, and he's kind of uptight. Can't take a joke."

Roxas glanced sharply at Axel and then back at the second prep cook, this time with a more critical eye. He noticed that the ends of the man's hair that were peeking out from under his hat had a rather crinkled, crispy look.

Ah-hah.

"Is he the one whose hair you didn't mean to set on fire?"

Axel laughed.

"Right," he said, completely unashamed. "I was aiming for his hat."

"_What?_"

Axel shrugged.

"He was wearing one of those official chef's hats," he said, as if that was any explanation. "Y'know—tall, white, pleated. Made of paper. It just looked so flammable, I couldn't resist."

Roxas stared at him, disbelief written all over his face. Then…

He couldn't help it.

He burst out laughing.

--

Axel decided right then that he liked the new kid.

The kid—what did he say his name was? Roxas?—had been so jumpy and suspicious of him all day, and it was nice to see him loosen up a little. Of course, he didn't really know _why_ he was suddenly laughing. Probably he had just fallen prey to Axel's superior charm and wit.

Yeah.

Whatever it was, a sense of humor was a rare thing in the kitchen of The 13th Order, and if this kid actually had one Axel was _definitely_ going to be spending more time with him.

"You okay?" he asked as Roxas doubled over, clutching his sides.

"Y-you set his hat… on fire…," gasped the blond between laughs, "and you're… calling _them_ crazy?"

Oh. So that's what it was.

"Hey now," Axel replied, grinning manically, "I never said I _wasn't_ one of the crazies. Remember? _Everybody_ who works here is at least a little bit nuts."

Roxas's laughter had mostly subsided by this point, and he gave Axel a somewhat half-hearted glare.

"I'd say you're more than a _little_ bit nuts," he said, accusingly. Well, there wasn't a lot Axel could say to refute that, certainly not in light of current evidence. That was okay; he didn't really want to argue the point anyway. "Why didn't they fire you for that?"

"Can't afford to lose me, I guess," replied Axel offhandedly. He took the opportunity to haul Roxas back into the salad line, where they had a little more privacy. "And that brings the tour of the insane asylum back to me!" he said grandly. "Axel, age 22, line cook extraordinaire, college drop-out, and slight pyromaniac. And," he announced, "I'm single." He winked at Roxas. "Got all that memorized?"

Roxas rolled his eyes. Apparently his little outburst had somehow managed to cure all the tension and paranoia he'd been plagued by earlier, because he seemed a lot more relaxed. Even, dare I say it, willing to joke with Axel.

"Yeah, yeah," he said. "Anything else I should know?" he added sarcastically. "You're birthday? Phone number?"

"Are you asking?"

Roxas glared at him.

"No," he said firmly.

Axel shrugged. Oh well, it was worth a shot.

"Nothing I can think of, then," he said, as if it had been a serious question. "You'll figure the rest of the kitchen quirks out on your own. I don't want to spoil all the surprises."

"Gee, thanks."

"Dinner starts soon anyway, so we don't really have much more time to talk," Axel added. "You should probably start breaking down the salad bar in a few minutes, and I need to get back to setting shit on fire. I mean… cooking."

He started walking back towards his own territory, but suddenly something occurred to him.

"Oh, right," he said, stopping. "I guess I should warn you about the Fronties."

Roxas raised an eyebrow.

"The 'Fronties'?" he repeated, skeptically.

"Front of the House," Axel clarified, waving a hand towards the window in the salad line. "You know, the waiters. They're not exactly friendly with Back of the House. That's us, in case you're slow," he added.

Roxas frowned.

"So what about them?" he asked, ignoring the jibe.

Axel grinned.

"Well, let's just say that they're a good case study in whether insanity is catching," he replied. "And they've got it on both sides—first the nuts in the kitchen, and then the customers, who are all absolutely _batshit_."

"You're accusing the waiters of being crazy, too?"

"Nah," said Axel. "I'd say a better term for them is… unstable."

Roxas blinked. Axel could tell that he had no idea what the redhead had meant by that. He'd find out soon enough, though, Axel thought.

It would probably be a hella funny show, too.

--

Taking down the salad bar was almost as annoying as keeping it stocked. The one bonus was the knowledge that after he was finished, he wouldn't have to worry about it again that night.

Running the salad bar wasn't all that bad, though, Roxas reflected as he pried a pan of assorted greens—the bag it had come from had called it "spring mix," whatever that was—out of the metal contraption used to keep the produce cool while it was out in the restaurant. It was a lot of running back and forth to the kitchen, but at least it was cold food. He wasn't in any danger of being burned, which was a plus, and he got out of the kitchen once in a while, unlike the rest of the cooks.

He picked up a pan of tomatoes and attempted to balance it on top of the spring mix. The more he took back with each trip, the better, he reasoned. It was a little unwieldy, but he thought he could manage it if he was careful. Taking half an hour to unload the salad bar wasn't really an option. He added a pan of olives to the stack, and started back towards the kitchen.

Being able to go into the actual restaurant was well worth it, he thought, looking out the window as he passed by. The view was a stunning panorama of the city. The sun was just beginning to set, gilding every building with a beautiful golden light, and in an hour or two vivid colors would be splashed across the horizon.

No, the job wasn't all bad. It would be interesting to work with people like Axel and Demyx, after all, and he would never get tired of that view.

Roxas turned away from the window, heading towards the kitchen.

"Oof!"

Roxas stopped dead as the pans and their contents fell from his arms, spilling all over the person he had run into. For a moment he just stared, dumbfounded at his own apparent ability to completely overlook people until they had either startled the hell out of him or he literally ran into them. Then his brain kicked in and he realized that he had just spilled tomatoes and olives all over a customer.

Oh, _fuck_.

"I'm so sorry!" he said, leaning down to try and scoop what remained of the vegetables back into their pans and clean up the mess. It looked like a hopeless effort without a mop. "I wasn't watching where I was going," he continued to babble, keeping his eyes down in case this was the kind of customer who went into rages at helpless employees and demanded that they be fired. "I—"

"Hey, it's no problem!" said the person in an awfully cheerful voice for someone who'd just been covered in tomato juice.

Roxas blinked, looking up.

"No, really," he said, "I'm terribly sorry, I was…" he trailed off, realizing that the person was wearing a uniform.

The uniforms in the Front of the House, he noticed, were in direct contrast to those in the Back. While everyone in the kitchen except Axel wore kitchen whites, the waiters were dressed entirely in black. He was wearing black slacks, a black apron around the waist, and sleek black shoes. His smart, black, button down shirt looked pretty expensive.

It was also graced with a large, yellow smiley-face pin.

"Seriously, don't worry about it," said the waiter, smiling even wider than the pin. "The aprons cover spills, and we have extra shirts in the office for when stuff like this happens."

"Oh," said Roxas intelligently, remembering what Axel had told him about the waiters. Not that he was really willing to take anything the redhead said one hundred percent seriously, but this kid just seemed… unnaturally happy.

"You're Roxas, right?" he said, holding out a hand. "The new guy on salad?"

"Yeah," said Roxas, taking the proffered hand warily in case it bit, and shaking it.

"Nice to meet you!" the other kid grinned. "I'm Sora!"

* * *

**Author's Note: If you don't know (and don't feel bad if you don't, it's a pretty obscure word), a "toque" is a tall, white, pleated chef's hat with no brim. And yeah, they make them out of paper. They're also banned in the kitchen of The 13th Order now, at least until Axel stops working there.**

**Next Chapter, introducing the Front of the House! Meet Sora, the rest of the waiters, and the hosts. It will be the first of the Front of the House chapters, and if all goes according to plan, I'll be alternating between Back and Front.**

**Also, for the three Organization XIII members who haven't appeared in the kitchen yet--don't worry, they'll be there. They have slightly more specialized jobs than the cooks, so their appearances are a lot more random. But everybody has a place. ;) And sorry about all the exposition in this chapter... it's kind of important, though, so I couldn't skip it.**

**Please Review! :D**


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